


Don't Let It Be Forgot

by NeonFox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014, Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonFox/pseuds/NeonFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the last train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once In Silence

At first Dean isn't sure what woke him.

He's in Cas's cabin. They spent the evening drinking, and talking about things, and _not_ talking about Sam, or angels, or the fact that the government has gone sufficiently to shit that finding an abandoned summer camp and making it into a home base is actually a viable course of action. Cas fell asleep first; even now, with most of his angel mojo gone, he's got a better alcohol tolerance than Dean, but he also started drinking before Dean showed up.

Dean had been getting his things quietly together when Cas started twitching and moaning in the grip of a nightmare. Not that Cas having a nightmare was any kind of rare event, but this one seemed worse than usual, complete with muttered words in what Dean figured was Enochian, because it sure wasn't English. Dean had hesitated, then set his jacket back down and slipped onto Cas's narrow bed and pulled the former angel against his side, the way he'd done for Sam in those first horrible weeks after Jessica died. And by the time Cas had drifted into real sleep, Dean's eyes were heavy and he'd closed them for just a second.

But now he's awake again, and thrumming with tension, because the sound that woke him is registering and it's one he was hoping never to hear again. There have been few times in his life that the fluttering of wings didn't mean someone was about to screw him over; if there's an angel in the room, that just can't be any kind of good.

He blinks the sleep away and focuses; Cas's kerosene lantern is burning low, and all Dean can make out is a tall shape in the corner. For a moment he thinks _Sam_ but it's not quite tall enough, and too slender through the shoulders. Just...wishful thinking.

"Who the hell are you?" he snaps, and struggles away from Cas's weight. Cas makes a small protesting noise but Dean knows he can't expect help from that quarter anytime soon; Cas is still relatively new to this sleeping thing and waking doesn't come easy or fast to him.

"Relax, Winchester," the shape says, tenor and British. "I'm just here to talk to Castiel." Dean's guts turn to ice (because yes, angel) and he looks longingly at his jacket, which contains all his serious weapons and is closer to the shape than it is to Dean. In the meantime he can at least put himself between Cas and the intruder, so he does that, takes a step away from the bed. Behind him, Cas seems to be making stabs at consciousness.

The shape speaks again, and this time it's softer, almost tender. "Oh, Cassy," it says. "What's happened to you?"

"You dicks threw him out, remember?" Dean says, rougher than he means to. He's been watching Cas lose his nature for years now, and it's heartbreaking. Which is kind of a chick thing to think, but hey, Cas can't read his mind anymore, so no one has to know.

Cas suddenly sits up straight. His voice is thick with sleep and alcohol, and he sounds utterly disbelieving when he says, "Balthazar?"

Just like that, with that damned angel speed, the tall shape is gone, behind Dean and bending over Cas. Dean spins, but the angel twitches a hand at him and he's shoved back a bit; not really restrained, but he can't get any closer either. Another twitch and the lantern gets brighter, and finally Dean can see their visitor clearly.

He's blondish, good-looking in a horsey English kind of way, and dressed in dark slacks and a jacket and a grey t-shirt with a v-neck so deep Dean can practically see his navel. And Cas is looking at him like he's seen a ghost. Which in a way he has; they haven't seen any of the angels in over a year.

"Balthazar," he says again, more clearly.

"Castiel," Balthazar says, and Dean watches Cas wince at the name; Balthazar sees it too. He puts one hand on Cas's arm and says, urgently, "You have to come with me."

"What?" Cas says, and Dean echoes it. Balthazar turns to fix him with a glare. "Shut up," he says savagely. "It's your fault he's like this in the first place, so you keep your mouth _shut_." He turns back to Cas, eyes him for a moment, and touches his fingers to Cas's forehead—-that's a motion Dean knows and he tenses, but Cas and Balthazar stay where they are; suddenly Cas looks clearer, and Dean realizes that Balthazar cleaned the booze from his system. The ability to heal others was one of the first things Cas lost, but people still do better if he tends them.

"We're leaving," Balthazar says then, and Cas's eyes widen. "All of us, Castiel, and you have to come now, this is the last train. I don't have much time."

"Who's 'we'?" Dean asks; this time Balthazar doesn't bother looking at him, and his lips twitch in annoyance, but he replies nonetheless. "The Host. The angels. We're leaving."

Cas laughs suddenly, a jagged sound with no humor in it. "I'm not an angel anymore, Balthazar," he says, sounding so much like his old self that Dean actually jumps a bit. Though he's hard-put to imagine Cas _looking_ less like the holy tax accountant. For one thing, the trenchcoat is long gone, ripped into bandages for a man who bled out anyway back when they still thought they could get ahead of the Croatoan outbreak. At the moment Cas is wearing cut-off sweatpants and a t-shirt that used to be Dean's.

"You can be," Balthazar says, low and urgent. "Come with me, come with us. The Host is leaving. The Morningstar has taken his vessel, Castiel. This is the end."

 _The Morningstar has taken his vessel_ , that can't...Sam didn't...Sam _wouldn't_...and Dean is trying to work out what else it could mean when Balthazar turns to look at him again, and there's still anger in his eyes but there is pity too.

"Yes, Winchester. Your brother accepted Lucifer. It was a few hours ago." Balthazar says it with the blunt air of someone who thinks there's no point in drawing out the agony.

"I dreamed it," Cas says in sudden understanding, and Dean looks at him, knowing that the expression on his face is begging Cas to say it's not true, that Sam hasn't given in, but Cas looks back with such sadness that Dean has to close his eyes against it, and he can feel the tears starting to prick. That's when Dean's legs give out. One hand runs through his hair without conscious direction, but he needs the other to hold himself up.

"Cas, we don't have _time_. We have to go right now or we'll be too late," Balthazar says.

Cas looks at him, and his eyes are full of longing, but he shakes his head. "They won't take me back."

"They _will_ ," Balthazar insists. "I have permission to be here, Cassy. They won't leave you to die while Lucifer walks the Earth in his true vessel." He laughs, short and bitter, and says, "Zachariah told me to tell you it's an order. Come with me, Castiel. Please."

Dean is only barely staying upright, and he can't seem to catch his breath, but when Cas looks at him he nods. Gathers himself and manages, "Cas, go," before his voice breaks. Balthazar spares him a glance that looks almost like respect.

And Cas looks at him for a long moment, and Dean thinks distantly that this is what dying feels like—-not the pain of whatever injuries killed you, but dying itself. Cas is going to go, and at least he'll be happy, and Dean knows he won't last long without Cas, without Sam, but that's all right.

Cas turns back to Balthazar and there's a long pause, and before Cas even speaks Balthazar is beginning to shake his head. "I can't," Cas says. He sounds like he's trying to be gentle, trying to break the news of his own damnation gently. "I chose this a long time ago." His gesture takes in the room, and his own body, and Dean, who is still trying to remember how to breathe.

Balthazar says helplessly, "Castiel." Cas meets his eyes and shakes his head and says again, "I can't." Balthazar's voice is toneless when he says, " _I_ can't come again," and Cas replies, "I know. But thank you for trying."

Balthazar's face is a mask as he leans forward and kisses Cas on the forehead. He straightens, and stands, and to Dean's eyes he moves as if he's in pain. "Castiel," he says once more, and then he's gone.

Cas stares at the spot where Balthazar stood for long enough that Dean manages to get his breath back, for now at least. He clambers to his feet, feeling like he's been hit by a truck, and makes it to the bed to sit next to Cas.

"Why didn't you go?" he asks straight out; Dean's never been good at subtlety, that was always Sam's job, and right now is not a time he can play against his strengths. Cas looks at him like he's an idiot and says, "I chose this when I chose you." Dean shakes his head, because that's not an answer, but Cas clearly thinks it is. And Dean doesn't know what else to do, so he reaches out and puts his hand on the back of Cas's neck and pulls him forward and kisses him, gently at first but harder as Cas returns the pressure.

It's dawn when Dean pulls on his clothes and walks out of Cas's cabin and looks up at the sky and says, "Michael. Yes." And there is no reply.


	2. How Could it Be in Autumn?

Castiel doesn’t recognize the city. It’s not New York and it’s not Los Angeles, but there his ability to identify urban landscapes ends.

The exact name of the place isn’t important anyway. What’s important is the presence of his brothers and sisters, as he hasn’t felt them in so long, and Castiel would be comforted if they weren’t all so afraid. He is comforted, though he’s frightened too. He’s missed them all so much, missed the touch of another Grace on his own, and though he has a moment to worry that they won’t acknowledge him—-the rebel, the outcast, who fell like Lucifer if only to Earth—-that fear lasts only a second; soon enough he stands in their ranks again, all of them looking down into the street where two figures confront each other.

Castiel knows them both. It’s been a long time since he saw Sam, but the young man hasn’t changed much; he’s a little more muscular, perhaps, than Castiel remembers him, and he has a few scars he didn’t have before. And he looks tired, tired to the bone.

Standing in front of him is Dean. Except it isn’t Dean; it’s Lucifer, wearing Dean’s face. Sam is breathing hard, angry or despairing or both; Lucifer smiles gently with Dean’s mouth and says, “I’m sorry if this appearance hurts you. I thought you might like to see him again.”

“I would love to see _him_ again,” Sam says. Castiel wonders if the rest of the angels who are here to witness can hear the way the thread of his control is weakening, or if they’re too remote from humanity. What they _can_ feel is the way Lucifer weaves the promise of rest into his voice, offering Sam forgiveness with every word. The angels protest, but Sam can’t hear them and Lucifer doesn’t care.

“Sammy,” Lucifer says, and Castiel can tell from the way Sam flinches that the imitation is perfect, at least for a second. “Sammy, let me help you. You’re tired, I can see that.” Now there’s weariness in his words, too, adding to the burden Sam carries, and the young man sways on his feet. Lucifer takes Sam by the shoulders and looks into his face with an expression of concern that, Castiel realizes, is not wholly false. Lucifer is his brother still, and Castiel can feel his Grace, warped though it is; he really cares for Sam, insofar as he can. “You’ll see him again, Sammy. I promise.”

And all of them, all of the angels, can feel it when Sam’s strength ends at last. They cry out in horror, but all their voices can’t overcome Sam’s when he says, with eerie calm, “Yes.”

Lucifer smiles, and one hand moves to Sam’s forehead; as the light begins to build Castiel feels the presence of his sisters and brothers slipping away, and for a while there’s only darkness.

He realizes he’s dreaming, or was dreaming, when other voices begin to pull him from sleep. Dean’s voice, angry and harsh; another voice he doesn’t know, but with it a presence that feels familiar. Surprise gets him sitting upright, though he doesn’t think he could go any further, and he says, “Balthazar?”

A moment later, Balthazar is next to him. Castiel doesn’t recognize his vessel, but he doesn’t need to; small and flickering thing though his Grace may be, it’s still enough that he can see his brother through the flesh of his tall, sandy-haired vessel. “Balthazar,” Castiel says again, trying to understand.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, and Castiel can’t keep from wincing. Following Dean’s lead, everyone in their small group calls him _Cas_ , and hearing his real name outside his own head is unexpectedly bruising. “You have to come with me,” his brother continues. He has a hand on Castiel’s arm, his voice urgent.

“What?” Castiel says, Dean along with him; Balthazar turns away to glare at Dean and snarls, "Shut up. It's your fault he's like this in the first place, so you keep your mouth _shut_." Castiel wants to protest, because Dean never forced him into anything, but he’s having a hard time arranging his thoughts; he’s still mostly asleep, and more than a little drunk—-drunk enough that he doesn’t tense when Balthazar reaches towards him to lay warm fingers on his forehead. He feels Balthazar’s Grace brush his body, and suddenly he’s awake, and sober. He can’t do that kind of thing on his own anymore.

"We're leaving," Balthazar says then. Castiel feels the shock to his core, because he’s pretty sure he knows what Balthazar means. "All of us, Castiel, and you have to come _now_ , this is the last train. I don't have much time." Castiel wants to say _No, no_ , because even fallen as he is it was a comfort to him knowing that his brothers and sisters were there, somewhere.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Dean asks from where Balthazar is absently holding him. Balthazar doesn’t look at him, but Castiel feels the flare of irritation as he answers, “The Host. The angels. We’re leaving.” His Grace, burning brightly as Castiel’s hasn’t in years, is full of sorrow but also of promise.

Castiel realizes, then, what Balthazar is offering, and despite himself he laughs. They were friends before Castiel fell; he supposes they still are friends, if Balthazar is trying to save him, but how can he not see? “I’m not an angel anymore, Balthazar,” he says, his voice falling into its old register for a moment.

"You can be," Balthazar says, and Castiel feels a wild flare of hope that he can’t entirely suppress. "Come with me, come with us. The Host is leaving. The Morningstar has taken his vessel, Castiel. This is the end." In the corner of Castiel’s eye, he sees Dean go absolutely motionless. Balthazar turns enough to look at him, and despite his anger Castiel feels the compassion, too, for a brother’s betrayal. Balthazar says, “Yes, Winchester. Your brother accepted Lucifer. It was a few hours ago.” He says it the way Dean himself would say it, fast to at least avoid the pain of guessing at what was coming.

A few hours ago, Castiel was asleep, and his mind bore witness, still angel enough for his older brother to call him to see his triumph; “I dreamed it,” he says into the silence. It wasn’t just a fantasy, then, Lucifer with Dean’s face and Sam so weary. Dean turns to Castiel, an open plea in his face; he’ll believe it if Castiel tells him Sam’s still whole, but he’s never been able to lie to Dean. Dean’s eyes close and he falls to his knees, one hand braced on the floor to keep him from going any further. Castiel doesn’t need his Grace to feel this pain; he never has, with Dean.

“Cas, we don’t have _time_ ,” Balthazar says. “We have to go right now or we’ll be too late.”

Castiel meets his brother’s eyes again, still amazed that Balthazar can think it’s that easy. “They won’t take me back,” he says, shaking his head. He’s fallen too far.

But Balthazar says, “They _will_.” His Grace reaches out, beseeching. “I have permission to be here, Cassy.” The hope is growing; his brother isn’t lying, hoping to slip him in somehow past the eternal vigilance of the Host. “They won't leave you to die while Lucifer walks the Earth in his true vessel.” Balthazar laughs, though there’s little enough humor in the sound. “Zachariah told me to tell you it's an order. Come with me, Castiel. Please.”

But again, Castiel sees Dean grow still, and looks at him, to see in every line of his body that he’s already given up; when he speaks his voice is barely there at all, and he says, “Cas, go,” as if he’s pronouncing his own sentence of execution. That’s what makes up Castiel’s mind: Dean is trying to give him what he thinks Castiel wants, as he would have done for Sam, but in the end Castiel can’t bear to leave him alone. He doesn’t think Dean will kill himself outright, alone, but he won’t fight death either.

Castiel turns back to his brother, groping for words Balthazar can understand. But he’s never been eloquent, and the best he can manage is, “I can’t.” Balthazar shakes his head, human enough in his vessel for that involuntary reaction. “I chose this a long time ago,” Castiel says, trying to explain.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, miserable and unbelieving, and Castiel can’t think of how to explain it, can only repeat, “I can’t.” Balthazar’s Grace flinches as his brother says, “ _I_ can’t come again,” as if Castiel didn’t know that there would be no second chances. “I know,” he says. “But thank you for trying.”

Balthazar leans forward and kisses him on the forehead, his Grace wrapping gently around Castiel’s as he does—the physical gesture is a faint echo of the unseen one, but Castiel appreciates it nonetheless; he’s so human, now, that physical things can comfort him. Castiel leans into the feeling of mingled Grace as well as he can, because this is the last time he’ll have it and he wants to remember what it’s like. Even when Balthazar stands, stiff and awkward as angels should never be, the touch of his Grace remains until he says, “Castiel,” once more, not _farewell_ but _goodbye_ , and then he’s gone.

Castiel stares at the spot where he was standing, his Grace bereft with no other to reach for, until Dean gets up and makes it over to the bed to sit next to him; then Castiel looks at him, because he can’t not. Dean just looks back for a second, and asks, “Why didn’t you go?”

Castiel wonders how Dean can not know that already, but he tries to put it into words. “I chose this when I chose you,” he says, because he can tell Dean the important part of the choice, as he hadn’t Balthazar. Dean shakes his head, as if he still doesn’t understand, and puts his hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, and kisses him. And Castiel returns the kiss as well as he can, because if this is what Dean needs, Castiel will give it to him.

It’s not till dawn, when Dean has slipped out of his bed, that Castiel realizes what’s missing.


End file.
